In the Jungle
by Hawki
Summary: Gigantic (game) Oneshot: The jungle, as it was called, was an area outside the arena where certain heroes ventured to gain experience, loot, and items. And sometimes, they never returned...


**In the Jungle**

"Beware, beware, as we search for the dreaded were-hare."

Roland grunted as he cut his way through the jungle, leading Lady Penelope's entourage through the foliage. Bewaring a were-hare. This was what his life had come to. Once, he was a servant of the Guardians. Once, he had fought against and alongside everything the kingdom could muster, including, but not limited to, sword-wielding owls, minotaurs, foxes with bows, a cat that fired lightning bolts, and a frog who was a martial artist. And insane.

"Beware, beware…"

He drowned out the entourage's singing in his mind as he continued leading them. Yes. Those were the days. Deadly, insane days, but fun. And more importantly, profitable. Now he was stuck leading others much richer than he was through the ruins of the old arena. Now, the way he got his gold was acting as a guide, not as the master huntsman he'd been back in the day, and hopefully, still was.

"Beware, beware…"

_Shut up, _he thought as he cut through the ferns, wishing the twats would be quiet. _Just shut up!_

They wouldn't. And not wanting to forfeit the gold he'd get once he'd led them to this supposed were-hare, he kept quiet. After making sure that his blunderbuss was still slung across his shoulder. And that his hand cannon was primed. And that his bolas still hung at his belt, above his balls, in line with his belly that showed him to still be boisterous. And not overweight at all despite what some people said.

He glanced back at the entourage, Penelope being carried along by her maidens. Maybe he had gained a few pounds. But it was a sign that he was still alive at least. That was more than he could say for some of the champions that had served the guardians, not to mention-

"Wait."

He held up his left hand in a fist, his right heading for his hand cannon. And for their part, the maidens serving Lady Penelope, patron of the Hunt of the Were-hare, came to a halt. They, at least, knew that he was the real one leading their expedition.

"What is this?" Penelope asked. "Why have we stopped?"

The good lady herself, however, didn't. This was her hunt, the were-hare's head would be mounted in her residence, and any evidence that he'd ever helped her would be kept in some bottomless drawer.

"Well?!" she thundered, even as Roland kept in place. "Why aren't we moving?"

_I could go, _he thought to himself. _I could just quit._

But that wouldn't be wise. Firstly, the handmaidens of the lady didn't deserve to die. Secondly, predators tended to go after those who left the herd. Even those who were the most well-armed.

"Roland, move your arse before I-"

"Shut up," he hissed.

And they _were _being hunted. He knew that much. And given that Lady Penelope didn't respond, likely she'd finally realized it as well.

_It's here, _the hunter told himself. _But where? It-_

"Aieee!"

Someone screamed. And he couldn't blame them. Because staring at the thing…the big…white…fluffy…_thing_…crashing towards them, he had the urge to scream as well. And answer nature's call. And run. And a million other things. But the most powerful urge was to just shoot the monster running towards them. And pointing his hand cannon at the giant white fluffy thing of doom that was heading towards the group in all its fluffiness, he proceeded to attend to that urge.

He fired.

And it did nothing, as the thing ran towards them. Frowning, Roland kept pulling the trigger, the bullets hitting the giant fluffy creature running towards them. They were hitting it. They were even drawing blood. But they weren't slowing it down.

_Not good, _Roland thought as the thing got closer. _Not good at all._

And yet it was odd, he thought, as the ladies screamed, as he backed away, as he kept shooting. It was bi-pedal. It was wearing wooden armour, and carried a bow. It seemed less like a dumb animal, and more like…like…

_Oh bloody hell._

He knew what it was. Knew why it was just charging into his hail of fire – even the dumbest of animals knew better than to just charge prey that could fight back. But charge it did. Getting closer. And closer. And-

_Screw it._

He drew out his blunderbuss. The creature leapt. The ladies screamed. And he fired. The creature fell…

…And then there was silence. Bar his own breathing, and the squawks of birds. And the clapping of the ladies.

"Well done, good sir," Penelope said, walking over. "Well done indeed." She patted him on his shoulder, before casting out her arms to her entourage. "Behold, the dreaded were-hare. We-"

"No."

She looked at Roland.

"It's not a were-hare," he said. "It's a jungler."

"It's a _what_?"

"A jungler," Roland repeated, kneeling down by the beast. The rabbit-like beast that was clearly not a were-hare, despite the similarities. Looking at its armour, its bow, even the knife in its belt. "One of the old champions." He spat. "I hate junglers."

"I don't understand?"

"Don't worry," he said. "It's dead anyway."

Junglers. He hated junglers. They went outside the arena, just killed creatures, and expected to get their own share of the loot when their team won. Or if it lost, just slink away.

_Is that what you did? _Roland wondered, looking at the creature's eyes? Its dead, wild, maddened eyes. _Slink away?_

Or had it just stayed in the jungle? He'd heard of this kind of thing – junglers who went mad. Who killed and killed, all by their lonesome, the killing and isolation driving them insane. He didn't recognise this creature. But in another time, in another place, he could imagine fighting alongside it. Or against it.

_Well, we know how that would have gone._

He got to his feet, meeting the gazes of the ladies. He wagered a guess that half of them wanted to go home. And the other half wanted to fling themselves onto him declaring him to be their hero. Which he was, damnit.

"I'll want extra gold for that," he said to Lady Penelope. "Hazard pay."

She nodded.

"And compensation for ammunition.

She nodded.

"And one more thing," he said, holstering his weapons. "One tincy, wincy thing…"

"And what, good sir, is that?"

He smirked as he began walking again. "To not sing that bloody song anymore."


End file.
